


Three of Hearts

by Yuri_the_Eighth_Demoness



Series: Notebook of Originals [5]
Category: Original Fiction - Fandom, Original Short Stories, Original Short Story - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Gen, Original Fiction, Original Short Stories - Freeform, Original Story - Freeform, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuri_the_Eighth_Demoness/pseuds/Yuri_the_Eighth_Demoness
Summary: There was always something ominous and powerful about the number t h r e e. This sentiment was always proven true in the Family...and their well-kept secret that Faust Saroza guards with his very life.





	Three of Hearts

Arthuro was remembering what his superiors had told him about the boy - that he was perhaps the most _dangerous_ member of the Underground Order than any member there ever was. But the man somehow felt uncertain of the idea especially as he’d spied at him from a distance, seeing that he was simply a **boy** , not even old enough to drive his own car.

Faust (that was his name), is not even fifteen, yet the government had accused, well, supposedly proven with many a legal document and such evidences, on many a murderous occasion to be a **super villain** in his own right in the illegal world.

He was said to be the head of the _Saroza Syndicate_ , dealing with drugs, guns, and those confidential carryalls the Americans were hankering the Japanese about, stolen three months ago. Though under Arthuro’s surveillance, he seemed your typical teenager coping with the ordinary stresses of any other student.

The older one had followed him some days and found that he possessed an otherwise _normal_ life. He studied in one of the local universities, had friends, enjoyed mall-outs and weekend trips with them. And he had a scholastic record that proved he was a young version of Einstein.

He likewise lived in seclusion, sheltered in a lone mansion in the richest district of the city with only a butler, a maid and a couple of stern-looking guardians.

So his family was loaded. The parents died in a car crash when he was five which left him with their entire wealth equivalent to the accumulated treasures of four generations before them, no other heir except him, having no other relatives to speak of and being the _only_ child as far as everyone knew. And get this: no one could tell what _investments_ the family had made the previous years. No one knew where the money went to, or how it rolled back in.

But in high class society, everybody undeniably agreed to the point - and his bank statements, all legal, attested to it - that every year the boy gets wealthier and wealthier than he already was.

_Compare that to my paycheck_ , the man mused.

He does pay his taxes on time and in the right amount, rumours stating the businesses of the family were actually abroad and scattered, kept confidential for the purpose of secrecy until Faust came to age.  Though things still didn’t seem to add up now that the man thought about it yet again, and this was the prime cause for suspicion among his superiors. No other information was available…

It was therefore...a _mystery_.

So Faust was a genius, no secrets there, and he could do great things in the future if he worked hard at it (not that he needed to though). But how would you explain the accounts, the expanding wealth…all this quiet _power_ the  boy possessed? His lifestyle was that of a recluse, an anonymous world no one could penetrate, not even his friends.

And now the government wants him **d e a d** , for the same reasons that got him branded as _dangerous_. Arthuro didn’t get it. Not any one bit really, but who was he to complain? He was here for a _different reason_ after all…

The man stayed observing the boy as the latter walked out the University gates and unto the suddenly bustling sidewalk.

“Ei Fau-chan, wait up!!”

One of his classmates hurried to his side and threw an arm over his shoulders, beginning to chat noisily about something, sending the blonde Saroza boy to flush red, smiling awry, perhaps with what the other had said.

Arthuro shifted from where he was seated on the hood of his car. He took something from inside one of his coat pockets, looking hard at it…

It was a card. A playing card which belonged to a deck of others like it obviously, the _three of hearts_ , crumpled and stained with blood. They had found it clasped in the hand of another government agent whose body was found near the river a week ago, bruised and badly mangled, three bullets to the head which was the cause of his death. It had been an overkill. He’d been tortured as evidenced by the broken bones and severed muscles. Traces of dirt and missing fingernails as if he had clawed and crawled his way out but never got far.

He was Arthuro’s friend. He had been sent to investigate Faust before the man, and, same as what Arthuro was doing here now, had been ordered to assassinate the boy.

The man looked up again.

_…assassinate the boy…_

He watched Faust bid his three friends goodbye.

By this time, a black Porsche and another vehicle, a Benz, had rolled up the curve up front. Three men stepped out of the vehicles - two, Arthuro knew their faces, were Faust’s guardians; the third, a smartly-dressed man the agent has not seen before but figured would just be five or so years the teenager’s senior, looked to be a lawyer or overseer of some sort.

Well, you can never put it past brats like Faust to not have one. With his state of affairs, whatever they might be, or just to manage his billions, he might as well be able to hire a dozen others.

Anyway, the supposed _lawyer_ was carrying some documents in an expensive leather folder and offered them to the boy, Faust taking the book and giving it a quick look, scanning the contents, aware of what he was doing. And it was one of those moments Arthuro saw a second side to the boy, the type that suddenly matured, far from the image he projected in school or when hanging out with his peer group.

Arthuro scratched his head with the same hand holding the three of hearts, in disbelief though he wasn’t complaining, that in a few hours from now he would be killing the boy no matter how illogical the reason may be. _Proceed with caution_ , was what he had been told, but then how could a kid like _that_ be so dangerous? Look at him! He was just a boy! Even his guardians didn’t at all look so menacing.

“This is nonsense…” Arthuro mumbled under his breath, cursing the state for being quite damned fateful to their hypothetical reasons.

But he did have his own questions. Like about the death of his good friend; he noticed the card again. He was there when they found it with the body, a mystery no less to the bureau why his friend was holding onto it tightly, his hand too protective of the fragile card as if there was a tale there that needed to be figured.

Oh Arthuro knew there was. His good friend liked to leave card clues that only _he_ could follow, understanding the complex way the other thought. Three years ago for example, the latter used the two of diamonds to indicate the missing two billion cash one of their previous comrades stole. Then he used the ace of clubs to tell him about the weapons contraband hidden in a warehouse. The five of spades which was actually the insignia used by a group of _Yakuza_ ; saved Arthuro’s life that day.

There were others.

The man could never forget these things as he had been helped by his friend’s unusual _clues_ more than once in his career, but then the other never got to using a card of hearts before. _Never_ from the suit of hearts.

Then what could it mean? Did it point to the killer? To a truth behind the Saroza Syndicate? A truth about Faust Saroza perchance? But the more he thought about it, the more he grimaced.

_Seems like you played me well to my wits end, Ronnie_ , sighed Arthuro.

“Can we talk about it over coffee?” Strangely, the agent sort of heard those words clearly, and he looked up in time to see the crowd with Faust disappearing into the vehicles.

He stepped into his own car to casually follow; inside, however, he was as restless as he was excited in the same way. Killing was never really a good experience. Always left a bitter taste at the back of his tongue, but then it also brought the hunter out of him in the same way. It was a bit of an addiction one can say…and he’s got it bad. He enjoyed disposing of the bodies he’s killed. If he wasn’t one of the paid _good guys_ he would have been a murderer.

Arthuro grunted in frustration. “I’ll figure it out once I’m through,” he told himself. “Honestly, I need to see a _shrink_.”

He made a note to himself as he inserted his key into the ignition, his gun, loaded to the teeth, feeling heavy underneath his coat jacket. Never mind. He still got work to do, resolved ever since joining the bureau that he would finish all the tasks assigned to him.

He could see the target’s tombstone: Faust Saroza; died the 13th of…

**~*~**

It was easy enough to take the two guards out though they had been a pain and fought, the agent having successfully timed his coming to when the maid was on her day off and the butler was out on his usual mystery errands in the night; he need not worry about dealing with the _extras_.

Now Faust was alone, and he could do one swift work of him and disappear like he was trained to do. Simple as that. He was likewise planning on making it appear as suicidal, that way there would be no finger-pointing.

Arthuro took a hurried walk down the deserted hall of the vast mansion towards the room he knew to be Faust’s favorite corner in the house, where he would surely be in by this time, nose-deep in his studies or in books, the stealth by which the agent moved not even important albeit it was second nature, as the seemingly endless, _cathedralesque_ tunnel of a corridor leading to the location was as empty as the rest of the house. The carpet also served to muffle his footsteps, expensively soft that one could feel the fibers sink then bounce back to life even with shoes on.

But what kind of a residence was this? The place itself was old, European in its architecture, well maintained but gloomy especially for a single orphan boy to live in. And they surely do not like to turn the lights on; from his previous assessments, the agent had already found the estate too dark, too quiet and all too vast for a fourteen-year-old.

That’s when he realized Faust had never actually invited his friends over. He preferred to see them outside for _karaoke_ , trips to the beaches or for dinners, which pretty much left the place unguarded, and quite often at that. He, like those who would dare, could simply slip in and not be noticed, seeing that there were no sentries stationed in the huge front gates, on the grounds and inside the mansion itself, the two guards assigned to Faust serving only to chaperone him outside but doing quite a lousy job at keeping the house _safer_.

They worked more like chauffeurs during class days, although they gave him a hard time just a while ago, one would wonder why Faust never really had some more added for security when he could afford even a small army. What with all the cash he had.

Arthuro shook his head at that: it was another thing that made absolutely _zero_ sense in all this…

He was now turning the corner towards the library. The room was at the farthest end of this last hallway decorated with silver armors, the one whose ceilings utilized a sharper dome design. Arthuro could see light pouring through a door carelessly left ajar, which meant Faust was already in there as was his usual habit.

A glance to his left and the agent could see heavy drapery, velvet to the touch even through gloved fingers. They covered the large glass windows seen visibly from as far as the highway which was already way off. The mansion stood on a hill. It was a citadel of power, of grandeur, of riches, left to deteriorate in the quiet and stillness of the wealthy suburbs.

Without reaching for a peek, Arthuro knew it to be a moonless night outside, a gloomy weather approaching. He needed to hurry, though rain would be fine to wash himself with after the kill that was to come. He moved forward.

Then took another stop, this time, to cast a brief glance to his right at what appeared to be a covered portrait of the Saroza family - Faust and his parents maybe, the enormous frame taking up three-fourth’s of the wall. At the moment, only a portion of it was visible, of what had been the elegant _Madame_ Saroza no doubt, the gold in her hair similar to that of the teenager, carrying a baby in her slender arms. That too, the agent guessed, would be the young infant Faust.

But enough of that. He had drifted again as he had been prone to do lately for some reason. Checking his resolve then and finding he was good to go, he continued, pushing the door when he reached it, the entrance opening soundlessly to admit the killer in.

Arthuro stepped into what was perhaps the biggest personal library he’d ever seen anywhere if later his mind could process the information. He was too focused on the task at hand, concentrating on finding his quarry.

Faust turned slightly when he felt he was no longer alone. The teenager had been seated on his favourite table, reading a book, the macabre ballad of _Lenore_ by _Gottfried August Bürger_ and in its original Gothic German copy.

“I had been wondering when you’d come,” the teenager spoke without effort or emotion. “Who are you?”

The light of the room was making the teenager look abnormally angelic, the man noticing how the beauty of Faust’s blue eyes caught the glow, actually lighter in shade than he normally saw them from a distance.

He was beautiful like some painting, like his mother was in the portrait outside, though of course he couldn’t really see her entire face on account of the always semi-darkened atmosphere of the house. Now the man wondered if the boy had a lover, seeing that he actually had the effeminate build of one taken cared for by a much more mature, perhaps higher year student or even a young professional, and could imagine the teenager under the sheets of someone else’s bed, being ensconced with kisses and touches.

Wait what?

What was Arthuro thinking?! How’d it got to that subject?

“I said, who are you?”

Damn, he was caught off guard, drifting again. Something seemed wrong with the way he’s thinking tonight. He felt…unusual.

Once again gaining his bearings, Arthuro pulled out his ready gun, the silencer already in place.

“I’m here to kill you…”

**~*~**

Another assassin.

Faust looked at the man with quiet exasperation, somehow expecting that but then…he hadn’t expected it to be this soon, this early and this bold unlike the others had been before him.

None of them ever thought about attacking him in his own house, though perhaps that was his own fault, the security in the Mansion was apparently lax, the doors easily left forgotten and open that even a kid looking for a baseball could just help himself in and then out. Some people even believed the estate to be haunted.

Gracefully, Faust stood up from the Victorian furniture he’d been sitting on, straightening his home clothes and looking into the barrel of the gun without fear, which shouldn’t be a surprise if only _those people_ who sent these men _knew_ how many times he’d done this.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked the stranger who narrowed his eyes at him in suspicion. “Before you kill me?”

The other visibly hesitated. It looked like he wasn’t one of those rash, irrational types who tried to gun him down the very moment they spotted him; nor did he seem the maniacal sort who would enjoy the attempt of _rape_ before actually killing him. It also looked like he had his own questions. Ah, so he must be the friend of the last one?

Faust smirked. Now _that_ would be ironic…

**~*~**

“What’s so funny?” asked Arthuro when he noticed the sudden change in the other’s expression, gun still trained at his target.

“I did say I’d ask a question,” the teenager replied, surprisingly with a smile playing on his lips this time as he slipped a hand into his pocket.

“Don’t move!” the man threatened.

“I just need to show you something,” said Faust to the man. “No tricks sir, after all, you _can_ just easily pull the trigger on me.”

The long-sleeved arm was the only part of his anatomy to move, making Faust appear like a ball-jointed doll, grotesque almost, as he drew out a deck of playing cards, the same in its back design as the one Arthuro had in his possession, the latter noticing the detail when the boy showed him what it was with an outstretched hand. Like _that_ three of hearts. The ball of his finger felt closely upon the gun’s trigger but didn’t pull just yet, although a chill did run up his spine.

“What are you-”

“You weren’t the one who took a card out of this deck right? But you _do_ have it with you, that missing _three_?” asked Faust with the voice of an innocent child. “You see, this was my mother’s favourite deck. A card went missing last time _one of you_ were here…”

_…last time one of you were here_ … the phrase replayed in his mind as was a heavy foreboding. The man felt the chill again, but he ignored it, refusing to flinch. This was his turn to know what had happened to his friend.

“You said something about one of us being here last time…were you the one who _ordered_ the death of _that_ agent?”

Faust seemed to have ignored the statement, instead, just sighed, not really worried about his life. “If you have it, can I have it back?” and the card seemed more important to him than anything.

“Hey, I asked you something _damnit_!”

“I heard you,” the look on Faust’s face became shady. “I just need it back.”

Arthuro was annoyed. He took the card and flung it at the teenager’s feet. The thing whirled before it fell unto the carpeted floor. His eyes never left the boy. The gun never left the spot where it was pointed at either: at the boy’s head.

Faust sighed at the sight of the crumpled card, was frozen on the spot and apparently displeased as he noticed the blood stains and creases on the surface of it. This won’t do. They can’t use this deck anymore. The three of hearts is now a useless piece.

He sighed.

There went the chill again, coursing down Arthuro’s spine. Silence.

“Bad idea,” Faust spoke, yet Arthuro didn’t catch his lips move.

Then belatedly did the agent realize that it wasn’t at all the teenager who said this but another voice, only until the gun fired and a life ended…

But it _wasn’t_ Faust. It was Arthuro’s…

**~*~**

“In trouble again, I see?”

“What a good evening for death.”

Faust could never get used to the sound of a gunshot. Never had. Never will. And he could never get used to seeing _himself_ in the faces of the _two_ who’d come to visit again tonight.

“Salem, Quin…” the teenager sighed.

He didn’t try to hide his dismay, enough that his usually-perceptive older twin narrowed his eyes.

“That just sounded like you’re not happy to see us,” said Quin.

Faust’s eyes fell on the man who in turn had fallen in a heap on the floor, his twins stepping over the body, followed by some of their so-called _Dark Men_ who’ve now certainly secured the Mansion. Salem noted how Quintin was looking so hard at Faust, before he laughed out loud, mocking the silence that passed between all three of them.

Three faces of the same person. A trinity. Blonde, blue-eyed all in different shades of it…the _Sarozas_ had their reunion again tonight. The three of hearts. That’s what the card meant, only Arthuro did not realize this until it was sadly too late.

“Would’ve loved to torture him,” Salem grinned, looking down at the _poor soul_ sprawling on the floor.

“Gods Salem!” Faust could only curse at his brother.

It was he who pulled the trigger, shot the agent on the head, and the way the latter’s blood spurted from the wound and gurgled through his mouth delighted his wicked sadist of a twin to the core.

Salem still held the gun, was looking rather blankly for the gun the agent had been holding up to Faust a while ago, the weapon now somewhere on the floor.

Quin moved to pick up the bloodied card, stained once more with a new shade of red, the blood of another agent.

“ _Mother_ would not be happy about this,” he said, handing the card to a reluctant Faust. 

Faust frowned. “And do you think she’d be happy when she finds out you once again put me in danger? Not to mention,” he gestured at the agent. “...you killed another.”

Salem did not suppress his chuckles, like a demon bending down to poke at the corpse with a finger. He swirled the pooling blood, then like a sacrilegious demon, tried to stick his digit into the entrance wound somewhere on the cadaver’s skull.

“ _Shit_ Salem. Stop that!”

“They deserve it,” grinned the other. “Sniffing up to our business…”

Those blue eyes flashed with a glint of evil, the scariest of three, the one to actually _enjoy_ , as a pastime, all the gore that came to being the Syndicate’s lead killer while Quintin Saroza called all the shots, the more administrative of the two.

Faust could always imagine a most frightening scene, of the wiser twin leaned forth on his hardwood desk, the powerfully merciless brother at his right. But where does this place Faust? Ah, that's right. He was _their_ face to the world. He was the lamb, the one courted by disaster. The one to be married to the son of another wealthy Underground Mogul to expand the _empire_.

Vaguely he was reminded by Quin of the responsibility that he had, "Your fiancé. He will no doubt be restless overseas if he learnt of this..." Not that he didn't have affections for Gabe. The man did court him since childhood. It was just all this...it was at times **too much**!

He sighed and sat, more like actually just leaned back on the desktop this time and not the chair. He didn’t feel up to seeing _them_ , the sight of their incurably psychotic twin now kicking the body to the side, ordering the Dark Men to dispose of it in a lovely bonfire.

_Faust:_ “We should be avoiding this.”

“What’s there to avoid?” Quin merely shrugged as he’d taken the dead agent’s gun in his hand after almost tripping on it near the other furnishings of the library, examining it. Black metal…the trademark of assassins, he believed. “This life chose us.”

Faust sighed again at that, exhausted, tired of existing like this. All this wealth, superficial. It was why their parents were dead, why his brothers had to stay anonymous and why he, the _only_ child known to the world ended up a decoy for those who wanted to take down the Syndicate.

At this rate, he will never see an end to the number of cronies (similar to the stranger now being removed from the premises by the family henchmen) who will threaten his life and want to snuff it out like a candle.

Imagine how many attempts there had been already!

This wasn’t the first or second or twenty-fourth. He’d been chased by danger all his life! It would only be a matter of time before he died his own gruesome death.

It was so tiring…so _damned_ tiring…

“Whatever Quin.”

With that, he pushed past his brothers, the almost robotic Dark Men, and everyone else - alive or dead - at the door. Into the darkness of the corridor he went to get some peace, the pitch black enfolding him like a cynical lover. He wasn’t up at sleeping tonight, not with his brothers about.

“Don’t be such a shrub young one - ” Salem started but was cut off by the older Quin, his hand finding that spot on their mentally-questionable twin.

“Just deal with the body. Remember, we still got business with the Russians tomorrow.”

“Ah right…right…” Salem rolled his eyes.

"And don't tell Gabby. He will hurry back from Germany if he knew. We don't need to disturb him with the _usual_ stuff..."

"Sure..."

Quin looked at Faust who had gone statue just standing there in the middle of the empty corridor, looking up at the semi-covered portrait of their family. He remembered asking his father as a kid why the house sometimes transformed overnight, when strangers came and they’d spy, the three of them, from the wings those unnamed people who dallied until dawn. Then disappeared into a parade of expensive cars down the visible highway, the lights flashing before them, fading into the morning.

They used to call them the _Vampires_. Now he understood what _they were_. Foolish.

Faust held the playing card up and took a long look at it, paying no attention as Quin joined his side while Salem hummed past them both, the Dark Men and a dead, dripping body in tow. They’ll need to get the butler and maid to scrub the stains out. Or they can just replace the carpet. A fresh colour would lighten up the mood of the house. Heck, they should repaint the dreary exterior too, redo everything…Quin thought that maybe Faust should invite his friends to visit?

A rustle of velvet echoed ever so slightly, a small, reverberating sound in the vast expanse of the corridor. The two remaining had pulled off the covering sheet, standing there for some few more minutes, staring at the portrait everyone who dared to penetrate the innermost circle of their family and their lives _failed_ to see in its _entirety_.

Here was their mother with the babe Faust in her arms…and the father who held his _two_ brothers...


End file.
